


Cold like glass, Firm like stone

by flightinflame



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Erik is a Sweetheart, Gen, Human Experimentation, Poor Charles, Pre-Slash, Telepathy, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 12:56:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21635182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightinflame/pseuds/flightinflame
Summary: This is a fairy story, about a lucky little boy who grew up without metal, surrounded by luxury, and with loneliness in his heart.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr & Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25
Collections: Secret Mutant Madness 2019





	Cold like glass, Firm like stone

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [Mnemo_ink](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnemo_ink/pseuds/Mnemo_ink) in the [secret_mutant_madness_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/secret_mutant_madness_2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**
> 
> Fantasy AU  
Charles never questioned why he grew up in a palace without any metal. Why would he, when he barely knew what metal was?  
How could he know the answer would change everything in his life?

Prince Charles Xavier of Westchester had grown up surrounded by luxuries beyond the common man's imagination, given rewards and presents that would stun most of the citizens beyond the palace. He had endless food, and grew up with the knowledge that he could have everything he wished.

As long as he stayed quiet. As long as he helped his father's tests, as long as he didn't bother his mother, as long as he was polite to his stepfather, as long as he didn't cry when he was beaten. 

The Prince was a very lucky boy indeed. He lived in the castle, surrounded by luxury, and never ventured outside to a world full of hardships that a boy like him could never have dreamed of. Better to stay where he was safe. Now, by the time our story begins, the prince was fourteen years old. Old enough to start to question the life that had been chosen for him. Old enough to say that the experiments hurt, and other silly little lies that boys like him tell.

But perhaps, reader, we shouldn't judge him too harshly. After all, our little Prince had only known his life, so he didn't know just how lucky he was to be there, to be special. 

Our little Prince heard whispers in his mind. Sometimes it was saying bad things, like when his mother looked at him in disgust _Weak. Pathetic. Should have left him to die when he fell._ Other times, the voices said nice things. _You're warm_ in little Raven's voice when the tiny girl curled up against him at night, her eyes closed in rest. She looked at peace there, but it wasn't real. She was his only friend, and she didn't like that he could hear her voices _Get out of my head Charles_ even though it was those voices that meant he had found her to start with. But his father's experiments helped him to control the voices. Testing again and again, to work out what was being said, what the voices murmured - and so often what he heard wasn't good enough. They'd talk of meals, or boredom, or dreams, and nothing that would be useful, because our Prince was lucky, but he wasn't a good boy. His parents life would be much simpler had he ever been born.

He knew that he was a mistake, but he didn't know that he was lucky, and that combination made the prince dream of running away, even though there was nowhere for him to go. Because he was a foolish boy, and he didn't understand how much he benefited from being within the palace. He thought that he deserved something more, not knowing the luxuries he had.

But his wheelchair stopped him leaving. It was a strange contraption, made of wood, with sharp pieces of bone driven through into it to attach the joints together. And he would sit in his chair, and explore his castle late at night, and sometimes he would hear another voice. A voice that sounded afraid._ I'm sorry Mama, I miss you_. Sometimes he'd try to talk to the other voice, but he'd open his mouth and the sound would echo down empty corridors, unheard and unwanted.

He was asleep when he heard the voice again, curled up under a blanket, waiting to hear someone approach, to find out what he was in trouble for this time, but exhausted. _I'm sorry Mama. I want to get out._

In his dream, he called back to him. _Where are you?_ the voice sounded like his own age. There was a pause, and he thought the voice hadn't heard him. But then it replied.  
_ I am in the dungeon. Are you like me?_

_I don't think so._ The Prince answered. _I'm a prince, and that's not at all like a prisoner._ He wondered what the other boy had done, to end up there. Everyone knew that only the worst of criminals went to the dungeon, where one of his father's friends could do experiments on them. There was that boy that had caused an explosion, and a girl who had tried to fly away with some of his mother's jewellery, and a boy who had screamed and broken the windows in the chapel. 

_My name's Erik._ The boy said. His voice was strange, foreign sounding. It sounded a lot like his father's friend's voice, and our Prince wondered if that meant he was Schmidt's son. Maybe that way he could be in the dungeon, and wouldn't mean he was bad.

_My name is Charles._ The Prince told him. _It's good to hear from you, Erik._ He said the name slowly, as though trying it out.

That night, Charles listened as Erik told him all about his friends, and the abilities the had. Alex who could blast through walls, Angel who had wings that shimmered in the light, Sean who could scream and break glass, and Erik himself, who could control metal. Charles wasn't entirely sure what metal was - it wasn't something that he had seen before. But being able to move things at will sounded like it would be fun.

_Can't you leave?_ the Prince asked petulantly, because he was a spoiled boy who didn't know about the limits of freedom, and how lucky he was.

_We aren't allowed._ Erik said, and he didn't say any more that night. The night after though, they spoke again. And the night after that. Erik's voice was a good one to have in his head, even when he sounded sad sometimes. On the fourth day, there was no answer.

The Prince was very worried, even though he should have known that boys like him shouldn't ask questions. He was disobedient, and that was why he was so often in trouble. He waited until he could hear his step father snoring, and then he clambered into his wheelchair, and made his way down long and twisted corridors, until he reached the spiral stairs that led down to father's laboratory. Now, the Prince knew that he wasn't allowed to use those stairs. But he wanted to find Erik. So he clambered down, lowering himself along from one step to the next, dragging the chair with him - and in the morning he knew he would be in trouble for it, but he couldn't worry about that when the best voice he had ever felt fell silent. 

He reached the labs, and got back into his chair, and followed along past doors with large rocks placed in front of them, rocks too heavy to lift. He could hear breathing, and he was curious, but he knew he shouldn't be down here. He considered running back to where it was safe, where he could pretend that this was all just a mistake, that he had never strayed out of safety.

But the Prince was a very selfish boy, and very foolish, and he carried on, until he found a door that sounded like one Erik had told him about. He couldn't lift the stone that blocked the door, but he could push it across, and looking in he saw a boy around his age, lying on the floor of the cell, bandages around his head and one arm. He wheeled closer, and then got down onto the floor. He reached out and shook his shoulder, and the boy's eyes flickered.  
"Erik?" he murmured.

"Charles?" Erik asked, looking at him. He sighed. "I told you it wasn't safe here."

"We..."

"He'll catch you, and you'll be in trouble. You have to leave, I'm sorry, I never meant for you to come down here."

Charles embraced him.  
"You went quiet..." He mumbled. 

"You have to leave now Charles," Erik told him _please hold me, I'm scared and I am sorry, and I need you_.

Charles nodded reluctantly, pressing his forehead against Erik's.  
"How can I help you escape?"

"I'd need some metal." The prisoner told him. "But Schmidt only has some, and he said there's none I can reach, I..."

"What's metal?" Charles asked. "I'll find you some."

"It's firm beneath your fingers, it warms up if you touch it but its cold... cold if you first reach it. It's hard, like glass, but if its warm.... people can shape it. Often it shines. It's ... it's used for keys, little bits to hold things together - there should be some in your chair, but I can't feel any."

Charles nodded, thinking.  
"Is gold metal?" He asked, because he had a scientific mind, and he knew that the crown he had to wear for official events was always cold when he first put it on.

"Yes," Erik said. "Please, go. Before you're caught." 

So our Prince slipped away, and managed to make sure none of the guard's voices came too near, and he went back to bed. 

It took a few days to put his plan into action. The treasury was up a tower, and by the time he'd dragged himself up that high his knees were bruised and scraped. But he took his own little coronet, and clambered back down. He got back to bed, and spend the next day studying, trying to find information about metal in the library. And the next night, he was so exhausted he had to sleep. But the night after, he made his way back down to the cells, and gave Erik the coronet. Erik was still injured, and Charles knew that he shouldn't be there with him, but he had gone to help.

Erik looked at it curiously. He didn't seem to see the diamonds and emeralds that covered it.  
"I'll have to destroy this."

"That's alright." Charles told him. "If it helps."

Erik had nodded, and told him to leave.

"I want to see what you can do." Charles admitted, and the metal twisted and swirled through the air, the gemstones clattering worthlessly to the floor, as Erik shaped the metal. 

Erik smiled.  
"Goodnight Charles."

Then, Charles returned to his bed, and thought of how handsome Erik looked when he smiled, and how he might have helped him. And our Prince thought no more of the crown he was expected to wear, because whatever trouble came for him, it was better that Erik had the metal he needed. He couldn't imagine the price of that smile, but he was sure it was higher than the cost of the crown.

The next day, Schmidt and his step father were angrier than ever. They wouldn't say why _the cells are empty_ or what would be done_ the freaks must be somewhere_ but the soldiers searched the castle, and Charles's theft was discovered - only no one thought to blame our Prince. Because he was a stupid, foolish, lucky boy, and anyway - he couldn't have climbed up the stairs to get there.

Charles had thought Erik's voice would be silent from then on. That he'd have left. But that wasn't what happened, because this is a fairy story, and even the most foolish of boys still deserved some kindness in fairy stories.

So that next night, the door opened while he was asleep. And Erik stood there._ You should come with us Charles._

"I won't be safe outside the palace."

"No. But you're not safe in the palace either. At least with us, you'll have a chance." Erik offered, and Charles thought of all the times his stepfather had thought of getting rid of him, and he nodded. One day soon he'd be killed anyway. He might as well risk his life on his own terms.

"We have to get Raven." He answered, thinking of what he had told Erik.

"Of course."

And he left, with Erik. Our Prince left behind all the luxuries he'd grown up with, for a boy he barely knew, who didn't understand the value of gold and gems when there was iron and steel. And he grew up, until he was a young man, and not a foolish little prince. And when he came back to claim what was his own, he had Erik and the others by his side.

And the King, his stepfather, and the king's advisors crumbled before them. Charles was too clever, and Erik too skilled, for them to end back in the cells. They ended up on the thrones. 

And there was metal in the castle once more, and they were happy.

And like all lucky boys in fairy tales, little Prince Charles, now King Charles of Westchester, lived happily ever after.


End file.
